Dearest mother...

Though you are here no more, I think of you every day. You taught me all I needed, and I use that knowledge to learn more and more every day. I miss you, I will often wear my hair like you always did, and I still have those old robes you made for me. I hope to make you proud by carrying on the family trade, and bringing our creations to other countries. I will honour the family by weaving, sewing, and embroidering our traditional designs, and perhaps I will create some of my own, as well.

Thank you, for everything.
- Shiva

Hazel is a green witch, this means she has the affinity of controlling the greenlife. She is a part of a coven that is a mixture of different affinities. She has her coven leader, Marion. Marion is the oldest of the group and a mentor to Hazel. She is someone Hazel can always go to if she needs to talk. Marion helps her with he process of healing, something that is very difficult for Hazel to do alone. Holly is Hazel’s best friend. They met when they were little kids and stuck with each other all through schooling. Holly is a weather witch. She has the affinity for weather magic and is often nicknamed the Autumn Witch for her like of winds and cool air as well as rain. Holly also enjoys greenlife. She loves flowers and often helps Hazel out in the gardens.
The last three members of Hazel’s coven aren’t as friendly towards her.

Crystal is more interested in fashion than in magic. She goes to the circle meetings every week, but she doesnt put her heart into it. She much prefers reading her magazines and sketching possible designs. Her dream is to have her own line of fashion, and while Hazel understands this and how it must have a lot of work involved, Hazel doesn’t think Crystal should stay in the coven.

Zahari doesn’t like Hazel at all. She has no idea what she’s done to offend the girl, but she wishes she did, if only to stop the glares and snide remarks. And the last member of their small coven is Astrid. Astrid doesn’t like anyone it seems, except Marion. Hazel thinks their leader is the only reason Astrid is here at all. Astrid confronts the members often and very dismissive of them. She’s always the last one to meetings and always the first out the door.

The coven is tiny, but Hazel knows it will only continue to grow. She remembers her parents coven having 28 people at one point. She only hopes that she can make more friends

Chicken:  One of my favorite things to see is players developing their own lore using something in the Cave as a jumping off point.  You’ve done that with the Enchanted Stone drasillis in this entry — their culture is fascinating!  I love the idea that the amount of stone vs. crystal varies and has an impact on how other Enchanted Stone drasillis view them.  Ice breaking and diving was also another concept you developed in this story that seem specific to this coat.  Very cool!  To me, the end was very mysterious and sad.  I wanted more expansion of the end scene because I wanted to know exactly what happened and why.  I hope to hear more of their story in the future!
[@Wolfspirit]: This was a nice, slice-of-life style entry.  It was a snapshot of a day in a brother and sister’s life that felt cozy and spoke of simpler times.  The illustrations were a helpful touch which served to immerse me further: the spattering of water, the strong gust of wind, and the color and shape of a fate fruit.  There was also an undercurrent of something deeper and sadder, seen in the reflections had on a stillborn sibling.  The last line also had me curious — it seemed foreboding and I would like to know more.
Silent:  What a rough road Lane has travelled — it was interesting to see Lane’s perspective given that two life-altering events happened to them at once: they were stabbed by someone they knew and they also discovered they weren’t human.  This writing only gives me a small glimpse into this world and leaves me with many questions about the queen, Kailen, Malon, and their complicated society.  It sounds like a lot of thought went into this world and story!
Hyasynthetic Nooo! I had a feeling this was going to be sad!  I loved your description of the Valentine’s memories that William and Lily shared as sister in brother.  It was really bittersweet how Lily helped William press through dark times and hold a steady job; it made the ending lines really hard-hitting and sad.  Is William going to be okay?  Will he manage to keep going, or will he sink into darkness? ):
Malis: Kriesk’s journey to the status of a main character was an intriguing read.  Your write-up showed that your story and plots are complex and contain a lot of different aspects you’ve had to develop!  I like how Kriesk’s loss of their wings gave you the opportunity to explore their path and intertwine it with both Rynn and Ix’kin’s paths.  I wonder if they will ever get their wings back!
[@Espurr]  It sounds like Zwei encounters a lot of drama in their life because of all of the very interesting people they are connected to!  Sun’s story was particularly captivating; the way that species reproduces is mind-boggling.  They must be very powerful if they’ve eaten a whole star, yikes!  Beta also caught my interest even though it was a relatively short segment; one of my favorite Star Trek character’s names is Data and reminds me a little of Beta — I’m already a huge fan, hehe.

Songbird: Aww, this was really sweet. The gardener seems like a very nice person, and it’s so nice to see that Cael has the same fondness for the roses than his mother had. :D I would love to read more snippets about him and this gardener - I can only imagine the wealth of things that Cael could learn from him! :)
Miremel: I love characters that incorporate guardian angel elements into them! It’s very cool that Castor has been watching Anise since she was born - she seems to be very fond of him, so I would say it’s a good match! It would be interesting to read about when and how she first met him, especially since she didn’t seem to remember her ‘imaginary’ angel friend from her childhood right away. I would definitely love to see more of these two in the future!
Condor: I love how you took the time to describe each pack member here, and how they’re all so different! I got a really great sense of how they might work as a unit, even from just the brief nod to each of them. It would be great to see each of them expanded on in turn in the future - I bet they have some wild stories!
polygone: I really dig that you decided to focus on an antagonistic character for this. The story between the hunter and Shush is really intriguing - I’d love to know more about their interactions! Actually, I’d love to know more about the hunter himself, too! His gun seems really cool, and he’s clearly suffering from some sort of curse or something. I definitely hope you write more about these two in the future. :D Will he ever catch her? Will he ever manage to restore himself?
Gabriel: Ohh, this is really cute! The letter to his mother was a great touch, and I love the artwork as well! I particularly like how you drew Shiva’s mother! Drawing older people can be really difficult, and you did a great job. :D Such a nice, warm palette, too!

Hawkins: Oh my goodness, I’m completely weak for stories of revolution. It hurt to see how dark and angry Cooper has become over time, and even more so to read his concern that his taint might also affect Peppin. My favorite aspect, however, was Peppin’s own awareness. To be able to maintain hope and light in such a situation, even when you can see the pressing darkness… he’s an admirable kid, and I sure hope he’s right! Awesome characters, Dakota!
Cien: I’m so glad Ashur has Yang! ;0; Your entries were brief and lovely but so sad, and I was so hoping Ashur would find at least one true companion to stay by his side. I found the repetitive elements in this prompt to be particularly effective — introducing Ashur’s self awareness and discovery of various feelings through his introduction to each character was really awesome. Great entry, Cien!
raus: What I really loved about your entry was that it embodied the old adage “it takes a village.” Seeing how you wove each character’s life intricately into the next, forging those small but vital bonds and building on them, was fantastic. You could really see how each of your cast of characters contributed to the construction of a new home and community… and all this without overshadowing their individual characteristics. Really awesome job, raus!
Vysal: What a fun group of characters! I was particularly amused by the witch who was more interested in fashion than magic… and a bit curious how she got involved with the coven in the first place! This seems like an entertaining setting to work within, and I enjoyed reading about Hazel and her relationships to each of her fellow witches. Nice work!
Losty: Ahh so cute!!! I really, really love best friendships, and Keme and Michel seem like a great pairing. I’m also very curious as to what exactly happened in that nightclub… I can imagine it would be pretty frustrating when a favored hobby has some unfortunate side effects like that. Still, I can imagine that there are some perks to the power too… :) I would love to read more about these two!

When Xix was young, very very young, her parents thought something to be wrong with her. A bad egg, they whispered. Contaminated by foreign blood, though no one could say how foreign blood might enter the mix. Xix was nearly entirely white though, a glittering creature of glowing crystal, and what stone she bore was rare and thin, so that her inner light leaked through still. It was unnatural.

But there were not so many young that they could reject one, no matter how odd, so Xix remained. Still she was strange, and though her parents loved her, her peers found her frightful or unpleasant or at least unattractive as a prospect for friendship. Anth was the one to decide this was very silly, approaching Xix without any fear.

Anth was nearly the opposite of Xix, nearly entirely stone, with so little crystal to her that what bits did glow stood out like lanterns in the dark. She was considered remarkably beautiful, an example of perfection. Anth had never let that go to her head though, mostly because she spent so much time admiring crystals that she hardly ever noticed anything living.

So perhaps her admiration of Xix was not so surprising, for Xix looked the part of the most magnificent crystal, and Anth lusted for her in every way. She followed Xix wherever she could, and Xix was beautiful, and found the admiration of the beautiful Anth to be quite pleasing.

When they began a relationship, they could neither of them say they expected it to go far. Each looked at the other with shallow gazes full of lust, and it could not be said they loved each other. Time passed though, and they became fond, and fondness grew to encompass the pair, and they were very good friends, and steadily it became apparent that this was very much a relationship of the lasting variety.

They took a long time still to seek an egg, and were quite pleased with the daughter that came about. They named her Iriala, and called her their static baby, for she nipped with more than teeth. One such nip rattled Xix down to her gut, to the tips of her toes and tail. Anth had to go out of her way to experience Iriala’s shock though, for stone was not a very good conductor, and even when Iriala managed to get some sensitive part of her, it was barely more than a tickle.

Iriala seemed to grow so fast as to be alarming, and it didn’t seem like much time had passed at all before they were seeking out another egg. Their second daughter was Dercrex, although they always called her Crex or Crexa. She was nothing any of the family had expected, for the three of them had always been cold and distant. And Crexa was not.

She was not fond of strangers, no. She was a shy baby though, whereas Iriala had been unfond of strangers out of dislike she was prone to showing with nips and hissing. Crexa hid from strangers, burrowing into one of her mothers, or beneath her sister’s belly. Crexa looked odd, soft and delicate, almost like Xix, though not so glowing. Only her eyes glowed, and they were wide and glittering and magnificent. Crexa looked from the day she hatched as if she could see past the thickest stone, as if she might gaze into an unsuspecting soul.

And with her huge, soul-seeking eyes, Crexa followed Iriala wherever she went, as faithfully as any babe, and such was her sweetness that when she tired, for a babe’s stamina was very little next to a nearly grown drasillis, Iriala would pick her up to ride at the base of her next, balanced between her shoulderblades. She would sit at the edge of the ice and wait for Iriala to come up from her dive. And the whole time Iriala was underwater, Crexa would try to hold her breath.

When came the day Crexa could keep up with Iriala, she could as well hold her breath far longer than Iriala could, holding it through when Iriala would come up for a gasp of air, and holding still through every subsequent gasp, until she was still comfortably holding her breath even when Iriala had her fill and came out to dry off and roll in the dust. So when her body did not tire so easily, she began to hound Iriala, whom she saw more clearly than their mothers. It was rightly a lesson from her parents, her first dive, but Crexa had eyes only for her big sister, and there was little Xix or Anth could say in protest, for the sisters were closer to each other than they had ever been with their parents, for all that parents and young alike were greatly beloved by each other.

So Iriala took Crexa to the ice, and told her how to tilt her head to hit the ice with her horns and her forepaws, how to crush it with her powerful body. But Crexa was very small, which Iriala never seemed to notice, but Crexa became very aware of when she struck the ice and came away dizzy. It was not her age, for she was the appropriate age to begin diving. It was that Crexa was small, was different as Xix had been, though Xix had not had trouble breaking the ice, and indeed it was said she could dive deeper than any other.

Had it been her mothers who took her diving, they would have known this meant that Crexa was not yet intended to dive, and Crexa would have to wait until she was big enough to break the ice. But Iriala was young yet, and so she had her sister stand aside, and with her magnificent horns and powerful forepaws, she struck the ice, breaking through it, making a great big hole so Crexa would not gaff trouble finding it.

So Crexa dove, and dove, deeper and deeper, and she found that her lungs never strained, even if she accidentally let out some breath when she opened her mouth, and the pressure of the deep water felt only like a pleasant coolness and press. She swam through the water like its inhabitants, sliding through the faint current eagerly and easily.

She took a very long time to come back to the hope Iriala had made, so long that Iriala had taken to anxiously pacing, unable even to see her sister, who did not even glow and was so very small anyway. When Crexa emerged, she found herself gripped by the nape and hauled out.

“That was wonderful!” Crexa exclaimed, sitting on her sister’s ribs, and Iriala laughed. So whenever Crexa wished to dive, Iriala would break the ice, and take up Crexa’s role of sitting patiently by the ice, though Iriala never held her breath.

Crexa did grow, though her growth was slow, and she was still quite small.

Iriala always thought Crexa would be magnificent when see was grown. Even if she was small still, Iriala promised to always break the ice for her, so Crexa need never worry about being small and could instead enjoy it.

So Crexa enjoyed that she could still slide beneath her sister’s belly, and hide within her parents’ curving bodies, and slip into the small crevices to explore caves no one else could, for babies were not allowed to try.

And then darkness descended. Iriala never knew what happened, but Crexa knew, for she was there. She was there when the crystals dimmed, when the shade grew claws, and she knew finally what it was to have her lungs burn. She found out as with her last breath she tried to scream for her big sister, and could only let out a whisper.

Xix fell onto the ice, and though she was said to be wrong, she was never said to be small, and the ice shattered under her massive weight. Xix sunk like a stone, powerless even in the one place she had always been most comfortable. Anth was terribly cold, and she could not even uncurl from her sleeping pose, even frantically afraid for her mate and young. The darkness wrapped around her like a cloak, and the bits that once shone so brilliantly dulled to nothingness, and she was nothing but stone.

Crexa lay down by her stone mother, weeping silently, regretting that in her love for her sister, she had so rarely shown her love for her mothers. And the light faded from her eyes, and the cave was dark as it had never been before. Iriala swore to her sister that she would find vengeance, somehow, though she didn’t know if anyone had done this or if it had been something. There was no one to hear her anyway.

Green was his favorite colour, the bright green of the treetops as he skimmed above them, surrounded by the sharp warmth of spring. That first feeling of freedom after the long dark winter months. Above the spire’s forests and groves where the sun shone brightly in the chilled air, a treasured memory that he kept close, held tight during his trials as a reminder of what he had lost.

When he fell, the shadows had enveloped him, depriving him of colours. The sun never penetrated through the trees he once glided over. He had been forced to shuffle through the roots and dirt, ravaged feathers hanging from his sides where his wings once folded. There he existed. The knowledge that he had saved his hatchmate with his actions was the only thing that would keep him from going mad. Other unfortunate souls who dwelled away from the sunlight were not so lucky. His focus revolved around regaining that feeling, the freedom that was forever denied from him. Sometimes he wished he had gone mad like the others if only to stop feeling of loss and despair.

Pale green was the colour of her dress, the blind woman who lived at the edge of the outpost. Tending to her small herb garden as it fought against the wilder thorns of the forest groves. Her humor had been the thing to bring some light into his existence. Her wisdom, the advice he needed to adapt to his new life. She had given him contact with others, even if they were Dreanai like herself instead of the Highborn Arakkoa he hid from.

An enchanted pendant hid his broken wings and gave him horn and hoof but did nothing to hide his manners and speech.  These things she taught him. His presence and company, an exchange for her cultural knowledge. She would take him to the near-by outpost, Krisek portraying the simple farmhand helping out his great aunt. No one questioned her, she was the ‘mad blind lady’ who lived at the edge of the homestead, why would they question her? They would sit on a bench by the small lake and contemplate the day. He learned how to take care of animals, how to weave a basket with only his fingers, how to stand and walk all day without getting tired. He would forage in the near-by ruins where the villagers dare not go and bring back trinkets and jewelry to exchange for other goods. Sometimes he even went to the outpost by himself when she was unable to make the trek. Only if she asked of course…

Fel green were the crystals that surrounded him when he bowed down to Shadow Lord Iskar. The energies bit into his veins, burning him from within. The call of the sky had grown too great and the whispers had grown too loud. One who had fallen had been given the gift of flight once more and promised to share it with those who had lost hope. He promised them freedom, a chance to regain all they had lost, all he asked for in return was to show the Highborn Arakkoa that they were wrong in casting out and disfiguring those who spoke out in truth.

It had been hard at first, feeling the felfire course under his skin, forcing shattered bones to regrow, feathers to sprout and plume in quick succession. As the other Adherents of Iskar channeled the fel crystal energies into his very being, Krisek bit his tongue, not wanting to show himself as weak, not wanting this chance to be ripped from his grasp. He had brought a few of the trinkets he had found as a gift of loyalty, artifacts of the Arakkoa from times long past. They had been his token to seeing Lord Iskar himself and he had been overwhelmed by the sheer power that radiated from the former Shadow-sage. The fel-sworn Arakkoa had taken great interest in one of the artifacts, Krisek was not sure why, but soon after, he had been led to the main chambers of their keep and requested to reveal the location of the ruins in exchange for the one thing he wanted more than life itself.

Dark green was the sky that fateful evening. The artifact was one that had been requested by an orc named Gul’dan, the one who had given Lord Iskar his new form. Krisek learned much about the events that had happened since his casting out that had forced him into hiding. A sense of dread grew in the pit of his crop as the puzzle pieces fell into place. The information he had given in exchange of flight had put his little village in the path of a warlock who held no value to life if they were in his way.

When he finally reached the outpost it was burned to the ground. Crumpled bodies littered the dirt, covered in ashes and debris. Dark feathers, fel-green runes still glowing softly, scattered around as a marker, evidence of the perpetrators.  The market was in shambles. Gingerly he stepped through crushed vegetables and charred meats, his claws taking him unconsciously to the spot where they always sat. A bent bracelet was all he found, blackened at the edges, the green gems that matched her favorite dress fallen out, lost forever.  Krisek looked around at the destruction and fully understood the price he had paid. Catching his visage in a shattered mirror at a near-by stall, he saw the same darkened feathers as the ones found in the rubble. Glowing fel-tainted tattoos winding around his renewed wings, giving them strength. Newly sharpened blades hanging from his sides. Green eyes… he shuddered as the bright fel-green irides glinted back at him in the reflection.  Green eyes, a reminder of what he had become.

Everyone tended to think that darkness was black. Iriala didn’t see it that way. Black was a color, in its own way. Black was the markings on Rosie, black was the veining of her stone parts or the brown-touched black of Maggie’s hat. Darkness was the absolute absence of color.

Perhaps it was because of the way she was raised—that is to say, differently than those of her new family. She did not think of colors as they did. When others said red or green or blue, she thought of the glorious gems she had seen Below. With this in mind she had thought the different types of stone might correspond with colors as well, but she found stone was made up of a great many colors, which only confused her further.

She wished she could demand someone explain colors to her, but she knew there was no Above explanation that would make sense to her. She did not understand blue sky and green grass and all these basic things those Above took for granted. And worse—she was growing increasingly certain she did not see all the colors, or perhaps she only saw them differently. The green and red gems had always looked very similar to her, but it wasn’t so noticeable, Below, where anything not cast in the gentle blue of crystal light was obscured in shadow.

But she knew Darkness was not black. Black was too kind a color. Darkness was its own entity, its own color, the color of hate, of malice and despair and death. It was a color without soul, without mercy. It was nothing like the shadows of the caves she explored, or the stone of Anth and herself. It was Darkness. No one agreed it was a color, but since no other color applied to it, Iriala concluded it must be a color. Perhaps it was only a color of Below though.

Like light. Light was like white, with something to it that was a little like blue or lilac or some other color she didn’t understand. It had always been a color of safety, of kindness and joy, a symbol of life. Crexa had been white, with eyes of light, and Xix had been light enough to fill a whole cavern. Iriala was a much more average mix of stone and crystal light, but she had been in no few caverns bursting with that color. If Darkness was hate, light was everything else.

Iriala tried to remember that always, tried never to forget that light was a good color. But sometimes she felt like darkness herself, and everything was misery, for there was so much light Above. It was impossible to forget when light had not been the opposite of darkness; rather, as it was snuffed out, it was the proof of darkness.

Sometimes light was the memory of it fading from Crexa’s wondrous eyes, of every trace of it gone from Anth, of Xix stubbornly still burning like the sun Above, but far out of reach, under ice and more water than Iriala could dream of breaching, still this glorious source of light. A glorious, terrible, merciless light that burned into Iriala, telling her that she had failed. Light was a beautiful reminder of all she had lost; darkness was a creeping foe, even in its innocuous shadow form, reminding her of all she had now to lose. And how ill-equipped she still was.

Every day she feared that this was the day the darkness found her again, the day it took everything away once more. Sometimes she woke up with Crexa’s lifeless face staring at her, no matter where she looked, painted on her eyelids. She didn’t leave her den on those days, for she feared what she might do. Her mothers had not been her responsibility so much, though the loss of them was something she still had trouble conceiving of. But Crexa had been hers.

Crexa, more than any other—Crexa she had failed.

Every other color was meaningless. They didn’t look so exciting to her anyway. Maybe her eyes were not meant for Above. Maybe she was not meant for Above. But it was better here, than alone below, in the darkness, surrounded by those who no longer were.

...Although, she had found she liked “pink.” It reminded her of light, without the sorrow. Yes, she liked pink very much, enough that she wished she could see it as others did. It was such a soft color. Pink had no bad intentions, even with her Below eyes she could sense that.

She didn’t do much with her fondness for pink, for she preferred her den to reflect the caves, heavy with shadows she was told were purplish, and lit by glowing crystals she was fairly sure were mostly blueish. But she liked pink.

Pink was a color of safety, she thought. Pink was a color of not-hurting, of being content. It was not the color of all being well, for she knew there was no such color, but it was a good color.

“More pink, Iri?” Maggie teased as Iriala ran her claws carefully over an improbably soft length of fabric. A “scarf.” She was glad Maggie had confirmed the color so she wouldn’t have to ask. She snorted at Maggie, unimpressed by her teasing, and purchased the scarf. Maggie earned her forgiveness by helping to tie the scarf into a bow at the base of one of her antlers, so every now and then she turned her head and, along with the white of her hair, she caught a glimpse of that pink, and indulged in a silly feeling, believing that the pink could keep the darkness away.

She knew nothing could keep the darkness away, just as she knew nothing would make her trust in the light as she once had. But it was a nice fantasy. And no matter what—pink was pretty.

“You know, it looks nice on you,” Maggie remarked, eyeing her sidelong. “It doesn’t seem like pink would be your color but…it suits you.” Iriala allowed herself a small, private smile. Pink suited her…she liked that, that such a good color could suit one such as her. She didn’t deserve it, but she enjoyed it anyway, and pink was kind. Perhaps it really would protect from the darkness. Or at least it would try.

“Isn’t that orange?” she distracted Maggie with a nod towards another stall, selling what looked like orange flowers. Maybe. She must have been correct, for Maggie let out a delighted chirrup and scampered forth to investigate the orange.

Iriala hung back a bit, tilting her head back and forth so the pink kept flicking in and out of view.

Pink suited her.

Better than darkness or light? she wondered, and she let herself decide, yes. Let herself have this one thing.

Pink suited her.

She is drawn to the red of roses.
She is drawn to the red of blood.
She is drawn to the red of sunset.

She longs for the red of lips.
She longs for the red of eyes.
She longs for the red of silk cascading down her body.

She thinks red should be anger.
She thinks red should be love.
She thinks red should be courage.

Red is all around her
Yet, nowhere to be found.

The red she misses.
The red she despises.
The red she loves.

Her sister is lost.
Her sister will not return.
And so the red will always remind her of her.

DelightfulDragon - Oh my this is so wonderful! I absolutely love the progression of the colors, especially toward the end - the line about the blue softening and becoming the color of beginnings? Beautiful! I’m so curious about Orel and the journey he is on. I hope that, no matter what, his blue continues to shift into something even more beautiful and meaningful.

[@Espurr] - I really love that you separated it into three different sections, like three brief glimpses into the important parts of their lives. I love that brown is one of the colors. Brown is a tragically underrated color. The line about it grounding him is so lovely. And liking blue ironically? I love it.

Hawk - Ah, orange! Another really underrated color. I love that orange is a color of love for Linden - that’s so beautifully unique. The bit about him talking to the pumpkins and the pumpkins talking back to him really got me, too. Losing someone is so hard, but he seems like he’s doing his very best! I’m proud of him. :’]

Hyasynthetic - I loved the separate descriptions for all of the elements! The similar format in how you describe them really highlights how different they all are. It was interesting, too, because I think I would have associated totally different colors with the different elements! It’s really amazing to see the differences in perception! I really enjoyed reading this!! Especially the last two paragraphs about life and death. The abrupt shift in though when he releases them was rad.

Nyfeaena - Ooh, I really liked how you used the color imagery in your submission! I don’t know much about Lysander, but this definitely hooked me into wanting to know more about his world, his life, and all of the hardships he’s endured. Red was a great choice - and I love that you included a couple of other colors in there as well. Awesome job!

raus - This was excellent. :D Sahi’s world seems so interesting, and I love the repetition of the color blue throughout the piece. I certainly hope to read more about Sahi and the other characters mentioned in this piece in the future!

Condor - This was a very sweet piece! I love getting characters’ perspectives on important events. Chava not knowing about day and night is actually pretty adorable, but I’m glad that the sun finally rose on her awful time of darkness. :D

Malis - It’s really rough that Krisek has endured so much, and ended up inadvertantly destroying a place and person who had grown important to him. It would be interesting to read about the bookends of this particular piece - how/why he was cast out and what he did after this point!

Rowyn - Purple is the color of looove! Rosy’s feelings came off so sincere and sweet — I loved reading her dialogue with her pet, and catching a glimpse into her affection for her partner. It was great how her emotional association with the color purple eventually became an association with Brook too…! Cute entry!

Chicken - Oh, I really loved the way you described the warmth of black, and its difference from darkness! Iriala’s understanding of color and what she sees in the above world were fascinating to read, particularly her fondness for pink. It may not act as a true shield against darkness, but I hope she comes to discover that even willing it to be so, even simply making that positive association of protection, might help protect her from that internal darkness in the long run. I really enjoyed reading this!

SocialBookWorm - Delightful entry and color selection 8)! I really enjoyed how you rewrote the associations commonly made with red and black, and was especially fond of your description of black as drawing others in, like a void… really awesome connections I wouldn’t have jumped to right away on my own. Xin sounds like a wonderful character, and I love that she’s taking classes to understand humanity better.

Vysal - This was an awesome poem, Vysal! I love the use of repetition in the first three stanzas, and then again in the fifth to alter the tone completely. Moving from the color red in primarily positive memories to something that is forever lost was compelling. I hope that, despite the hopeless note this poem closes on, Alora might have some opportunity to meet her sister again!

Blood Magic can be very messy! Wear red, it helps. Though, since Jack has long since mastered his magic and kept spills to a minimum, his only battle is against the cat hair his many undead cats get on everything. Everything. (Jack is nearing the moment where he ceases to care).